X.

Now Death began her sword to whet,

Not all the Cyclops sweat,

Nor Vulcaus mighty Anvils could prepare

Weapons enough for her,

No weapon large enough but all the Air;

Men felt the heat within him rage,

And hop’d the Air would it asswage,

Call’d for its help, but th’ Air did them deceive,

And aggravate the ills it should relieve.